


yesterday was hard on all of us (our paths, they crossed)

by Jazer



Series: Destroy the middle, it's a waste of space [2]
Category: Inazuma Eleven, Inazuma Eleven GO
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Character Study, Child Neglect, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Fubuki Shirou owns a cat, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Parental Fubuki Shirou, Team as Family, Trust Issues, Yukimura Hyouga-centric, Yukimura is actually really protective, i love Yukimura Hyouga and just needed an excuse to write about him, ice-cream eating contest, slight AU, there are hugs in this one, there's also hint (or maybe more than a hint) of emotional abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 13:09:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16893210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jazer/pseuds/Jazer
Summary: Yukimura Hyouga is not really an anxious child – he’s learned not to care too much about things that are pretty much out of his control. Sure, there are still things that overwhelm him and he can feel the familiar fear creeping in anyways, but he tries to remove himself from the stressful situations before it gets too much to handle.It’s not foolproof.But it works, so he guesses it’s alright for a time being. He’s been dealing with this on his own for a long time – so long that when help is practically shoved in his face, he has no idea how to accept it. He chokes on it. It’s weird and unpractical, like most of the stuff Hyouga does – but that’s it. That’s what Hyouga’s life looks like.Or at least – it looked.Because here’s the most surprising and baffling thing – a concept so alien he has the urge to pinch himself to make sure he’s not dreaming it up.Yukimura Hyouga is not alone, anymore.





	yesterday was hard on all of us (our paths, they crossed)

**Author's Note:**

> I just really love Yukimura, okay?
> 
> So that's like, a continuation of the previous one-shot that turned just a litttttttle too long and the title is from the song Yesterday was hard on all of us by Fink and I just, like, loved writing this piece to it? You may remember it from MD House, yo. 
> 
> So anyways, a little warning, there's nothing REALLY bad, but Hyouga argues a lot with his parents and it makes him dissociate? There are are moments when you can see him panicking as well, so just be safe if that triggers you.
> 
> If you're reading this with music, which I recommend doing! - give a try Youth by Daughter, Yesterday was hard on all of us by Fink, and Stubborn Love by The Lumineers. I wrote it while listening to those and they're are so Good. 
> 
> (Also, I am still stunned by the response I got on Look Around. You guys are Awesome).

                 The reality of coming to Fubuki-senpai’s house doesn’t really hit Hyouga until he’s gently shaken awake in the man’s car some time after he has – apparently – fallen asleep. For a moment, there’s a brief moment of panic at not knowing where he is, before Fubuki-senpai’s face appears in his line of vision.

                “We’re here,” Fubuki-senpai announces softly.

                Hyouga blinks back sleep and covers his mouth as he yawns and sits up properly, “Already?”

                “I don’t live that far.”

                “Huh,” Hyouga trembles when cold air hits his warmed up skin, “Ah, it’s still freezing.”

                Fubuki-senpai shakes his head, amused, before he steps back and allows Hyouga to get out of the car. He locks it behind him and before Hyouga can protests, snatches his messenger bag and slings it around his shoulder again.

                Hyouga begrudgingly follows after him when he moves towards the house and huffs, “I can carry my own stuff, senpai.”

                “I know.”

                “Then why—?”

                “You look dead on your feet, Yukimura,” Fubuki-senpai explains as he slides the key into the lock. Hyouga looks at him, still confused, but doesn’t comment on it any further. The man notices, “What’s that look?”

                “What look?” Hyouga asks, wrapping his arms around himself, defensive. Fubuki-senpai’s jacket is still around him, way too big, and way too heavy for him to walk around comfortably, but he doesn’t make a move to take it off. It serves almost as an armor.

                Fubuki-senpai swings the door open, “You look like I’ve said something weird.”

                _That’s because you did_ , Hyouga thinks, but remembers that not everyone kid is perplexed at any act of kindness towards them, so he only shrugs, “No idea what you’re talking about, Fubuki-senpai.”

                “Sure,” the man sighs, “Come on in. It really is cold.”

                But Hyouga, for some unfathomable reason, freezes on the spot at that. Fubuki-senpai sends him a questioning look and Hyouga would love to explain – to say that it feels as if crossing the threshold is a betrayal of some sorts to his parents. His bones are heavy and despite the cold that bites in his face, breath catches in his throat.

                It shouldn’t feel like – _this_. Like Hyouga’s committing a crime. Like he doesn’t deserve it. Like it’s wrong.

                But it does.

                As Hyouga tries to force his limbs to move, Fubuki-senpai waits. He’s probably cold, too, but he doesn’t move to push him through the door, he doesn’t offer anything more than a few words, “There’s a cat inside.”

                It seems to break through whatever daze he’s been in, because Hyouga snaps his eyes to the man in surprise, “A cat?”

                Only when it’s clear that Hyouga isn’t going to sprint back to the car and possibly embarrass himself with freaking out, Fubuki-senpai cautiously places his hand on his back and squeezes. It’s a simple reminder that he’s there. It’s enough – for one reason or another – to make Hyouga take a step and finally cross the damned threshold.

                When he hears the door close, he expects to feel trapped. That’s how small spaces make him feel, they’re suffocating, limiting. Hyouga doesn’t like the feeling. However, the second he’s further into the house, the warmer the walls. They don’t cave in on him when he looks.

                Nothing feels like his home, is the first thing that comes to Hyouga’s mind. His room, his house, it’s all without character – blank, unfeeling. The hallways, the shelves  and tables in Fubuki-senpai’s house aren’t as organized as in Hyouga’s house. They don’t scream at him. They give him calmness.

                It’s weird.

                And it’s even weirder that as Hyouga sits on the couch in the small living room, he actually likes the feeling the room gives him. The tension in his muscles disappears almost completely when a Ragdoll white cat jumps on his lap.

                “Hi there,” he whispers to it and raises a shaky hand to pet it.

                “That’s  Nana,” Fubuki-senpai says as he walks in with two tubs of vanilla ice-cream in his hands, “She’s friendly,” he gives the cat a side-eye, “Maybe a little too much.”

                Nana looks at him defiantly, licking a paw. Hyouga smiles, tentative and scratches her behind the ear, “She’s nice,” he comments quietly.

                Fubuki-senpai smiles, then gives him a spoon, “She is. Until she sneaks out to the neighbors to beg for food,” he sits next to him on the couch, giving one of the open tubs to Hyouga, “Dig in. I was serious, I don’t share my ice-cream with anyone.”

                Hyouga cracks a more genuine smile, “I’m special then?”

                “Sure you are,” he says, and leans on the couch, “Don’t get used to it, though.”

                And then, because Hyouga is tired and his mouth filter stopped working some time ago, blurts out, “I bet I can eat it faster than you, senpai.”

                Fubuki-senpai pauses with a spoon halfway into his mouth and looks at him seriously, “Is that a challenge, Yukimura?”

                And Hyouga, because he can’t back down now, answers, “Would that even be a challenge, old man?”

                And that’s how Hyouga ended up shoveling entire tub of ice cream into his mouth, like the most unhealthiest person on Earth, rendering his face practically numb. It’s not what really made the contest so lame, though.

                It’s the fact that just as Hyouga finishes his own portion and looks up to announce he’s the first, he’s looking at Fubuki-senpai whose own tub is placed on the table in front of them, empty for God knows how long.

                There’s a beat of silence.

                “No way,” he breathes, awed.

                Fubuki-senpai grins, “I told you, Yukimura.”

                And then, there’s a sharp searing pain in Hyouga’s forehead and he abandons his tub on the table, whining and holding his head, “Ow, ow, ow,” he hisses.

                Fubuki-senpai looks at him, sympathetic, “Ah. Brain freeze.”

                Hyouga curls up on the couch, miserable, “Senpai, help.”

                 “Press your tongue against the roof of your mouth,” Fubuki-senpai instructs before getting up, “I will make you something warm to drink. You like cocoa, Yukimura?”

                His only answer is a quiet whimper that Fubuki-senpai takes as a yes before going to the kitchen. Hyouga doesn’t hesitate to do as the man said, and waits the most torturous ten seconds of his life before the pain slowly starts to disappear.

                “That hurt,” he massages his temple, looking down at his feet when Nana meows questioningly at him, “I’m okay, Nana. Just a headache,” he answers, bringing his hand to stroke her fur and then, he leans his head on the back of the couch, “This sucks.”

                It feels stupid talking to a cat. Maybe Hyouga is still wrapping his head around the fact that apparently, Fubuki-senpai owns a cat. When he thinks about it more, it makes sense that before all this happened, the man took him to cat café, of all the places. Hyouga should’ve noticed it earlier.

                Fubuki-senpai returns shortly after, giving him a cup of hot cocoa which Hyouga grasps with only slightly trembling hands. He sits down and waits for a moment before speaking up, “Yamada-sensei called your mom to say you’re staying at friend’s place.”

                Hyouga stills only for a second, staring at Fubuki-senpai’s face longer than it was needed, before he looks away, fingers tightening on the cup, “I see.”

                “Do you want to talk about it?”

                “About what?” Hyouga tries not to get angry, it’s not really Fubuki-senpai’s fault that Hyouga was born in that kind of family, not the other, but here’s the thing: Hyouga’s too tired to control what he’s saying, what he’s thinking. It feels like everything he’s kept inside, bangs on the walls, tries to get out, “I don’t think there’s anything to talk about.”

                Fubuki-senpai doesn’t know – that’s the truth.

                Hyouga can feel like he does, and Fubuki-senpai can theorize and speculate, but he doesn’t know – he can’t know even if Hyouga desperately wants him to. Because it’s not fair to throw his problems at Fubuki-senpai, he doesn’t own him a damn thing.

                And Hyouga never told.

                About the scar, about his hands occasionally shaking for no reason – a reminder of his fingers being slapped with a ruler, about how Hyouga could go on days being ignored because he said the wrong thing, about the fact that his mother never took any interest in things Hyouga loved and instead forced him to attend art classes.

                ‘ _Don’t get in a way,_ ’ his mother used to say, ‘ _don’t bother us with your teenage phases._ ’

                He’s already a bother anyways. He’s always been – with his soccer, his transferring from school to school, with his violin.

                He’s spiraling down the dark hole when Fubuki-senpai’s voice cuts in, “I’m not going to force you to tell me, Yukimura.”

                Hyouga brings a cup to his mouth and burns his tongue on the hot liquid. He doesn’t care, he thinks he deserves it for being a trouble and drinks some more.

                “There’s nothing to tell,” he insists.

                Fubuki-senpai doesn’t push. He never does. Sometimes, Hyouga wishes he did because then maybe something would change. Maybe he wouldn’t be stuck where he is now.

                “Alright,” he says, “I understand,” he adds in and nods to the cup, “I think you should let it cool down first.”

                Hyouga shakes his head, thinking back to the ruler, a punishment for getting proportions wrong, and tries to sip even more. Fubuki-senpai’s hand shoots to the cup and he grips it and takes it away.

                “It’s boiling,” he says firmly and puts in on the table, “Wait a minute, Yukimura.”

                _I deserve it,_ he thinks, but nods and instead of burning his tongue on the drink, he starts picking at his fingernails, just to keep his hands busy with something. Somehow, the room feels too hot and too cold at the same time. Hyouga’s mildly aware that he’s spiraling somewhere, why when there’s no danger around? He doesn’t know,

                Fubuki-senpai says something, and it makes Nana jump on Hyouga’s lap and paw at his hands. She’s persistent enough to make him stop for a hot minute and she uses it to her advantage and climbs even further on his body, nuzzling him under his throat.

                “I don’t want to quit soccer,” Hyouga says, voice unsteady.

                “You don’t have to.”

                Hyouga takes a deep breath and lifts a shaky hand to stroke Nana’s fur, “You don’t understand, Senpai.”

                Hyouga wants to explain that there’s nothing anyone can do, that is left to deal with the consequences alone and even if someone tries, there’s no changing his parents’ mind. Hyouga should be used to having things he loves taken away from him – from violin, to knitting, up to soccer. It’s not something new.

                And yet, it hurts all the same.

                “Yukimura,” when Fubuki-senpai speaks up, it’s stern, “I won’t let them.”

                Hyouga nods, but he knows it’s a white lie, an empty promise that means nothing even if it comes out of Fubuki-senpai’s mouth. Sooner or later, the man will find out there’s no solution, that Hyouga’s not worth all that trouble.

                “Okay,” he whispers but there’s no feeling in it.

                When he reaches for his cup of cocoa, it’s no longer hot and it doesn’t burn.

                It makes Hyouga’s skin crawl.

 

* * *

 

                Hyouga can’t sleep.

                The quest room Fubuki-senpai has set up for him is too quiet, too empty with only him inside. Hyouga spent the majority of his time in bed tossing and turning, plagued with tormented thoughts and restless body.

                It’s one AM when he finally gives up, slides out from under his covers and slowly tip-toes out of the room to the dark living room. It’s weird sneaking around like this – it feels wrong to even wander around with Fubuki-senpai still sleeping, but Hyouga can’t sit alone in the room. He has to move around to get rid of his hammering heart.

                He sits on the couch, unconsciously trying to take up the least space even though there’s no one else sitting on it and wraps his arms around himself. His hands shake and he briefly wonders if maybe he’d be able to get out, find a soccer ball and kick it a few times.

                He quickly dismisses the thought. It would probably make too much noise. The door seems to be rusty, too and Hyouga doesn’t want to risk it.

                He sits like this, staring at the turned off TV for a little while before there’s a quiet meow on the ground. He shifts his gaze to glance at Nana and hushes her, “Be quiet,” he whispers, “Senpai is sleeping.”

                Nana’s eyes are glowing softly in the dark and she seems to be judging him, as if the thought that her waking up Fubuki-senpai would result in disastrous effects is unthinkable and stupid. Hyouga sighs, but doesn’t try argue with her.

                And then, she also leaves. Hyouga only catches a glimpse of her white tail disappearing into Fubuki-senpai’s room before his mind starts to race again and Hyouga’s back to staring at the TV. He doesn’t know why he feels the way he does right now, why it still feels like he’s in danger.

                ‘ _We love you, Hyouga_ ,’ his mother would say, _‘it’s for your own good, you know that right?’_

                Hyouga wonders about it – he wouldn’t, back then, but he does now. Now he has Miyuki-san, who doesn’t yell at him, who doesn’t say double-meaningful words that stab him in the heart. Things like, ‘you’re not trying hard enough’ and ‘it’s your fault that I had to hit you. It’s the only way you will learn,’ never came out of Miyuki-san’s mouth. Neither did ‘you’re not worth much if you can’t get it right’ that usually came from his father.

                Do they love him? Or is Hyouga just a tool to get money?

                He tries to make himself smaller on the couch, hands gripping a little too tightly on his arms, nails almost digging into his skin and frowns.

                _‘I’m only doing this because I love you, honey._ ’

                Is he imagining all this? What if he’s making it all up?

                His heart sinks, but then, something else appears in his mind.

                Fubuki-senpai never treated him like that. And while Hyouga doesn’t know what parental love is supposed to look like, while he doesn’t know what love in general really means, he knows that Fubuki-senpai never told him that he’s a bother, that he’s a burden.

                Hyouga never had to be perfect around Fubuki-senpai, is Hyouga’s last conclusion before the living room is enveloped in light.

                He stiffens up, slowly turning to look at the threshold of the room. He almost bumps his nose into Nana’s face because she conveniently perched herself on the back of the couch, a self-satisfied smirk on her face. He sends her an angry look.

                “Imagine my surprise,” Fubuki-senpai begins, voice still scratchy from sleep, “when I woke up to my cat trying to dig a hole in my face. Truly unpleasant.”

                “I’m sorry?” Hyouga comments hesitantly.

                “I’m actually glad she did,” he admits immediately, eyes narrowing at his small form on the couch, “otherwise, I wouldn’t know you’re sitting alone out here.”

                Before Hyouga can be filled with guilt and start apologizing, Fubuki-senpai crosses the room in three steps, rounds the couch and only then does Hyouga notice a big, fluffy blanket in his hands. Seconds later, the blanket is thrown around his arms and he’s swathed in it. The relief he feels at the heaviness of it is almost instantaneous. 

                “It’s a weighted blanket,” Fubuki-senpai offers, crouched in front of him, “It used to help me sleep back then.”

                Hyouga doesn’t need to ask what ‘back then’ means anymore. He knows Fubuki-senpai is talking about the aftermath of the avalanche.

                When he’s properly wrapped in the blanket, Fubuki-senpai sits down next to him and taps his fingers on his knees, waiting. Hyouga takes it as a request to speak, “I couldn’t sleep.”

                Fubuki-senpai doesn’t seem surprised, “Something on your mind, Yukimura?”

                _‘What is love?_ ’ is on the tip on his tongue, but Hyouga doesn’t dare to ask. He doesn’t actually want to know the answer  just yet. He knows it would mean confronting what his family is for real. He’s not ready for it yet.

                The ‘I’m anxious’ isn’t a good excuse. Neither is, ‘I don’t want to be alone in the room’, because Hyouga never had problems with sleeping at somebody else’s house.

                He settles on, “It’s too quiet.”

                Fubuki-senpai nods slowly, eyes searching around the room before he stops on something in the corner of the room, “How about I show you photos of my time in junior high school, then?” Hyouga peeks from under the blanket, “You can’t fall asleep, can you?”

                Hyouga worries his lip, “Aren’t you tired, Fubuki-senpai?” he asks instead.

                Fubuki-senpai doesn’t answer for a moment, instead taking his time in getting an old, thick photo album from the book shelf, “Not really,” he says.

                Hyouga’s eyes drift to the digital clock on the table, “It’s late…”

                “It’s Friday night, Yukimura,” Fubuki-senpai points out, “You can sleep in.”

                “But you—“

                “I,” the man sits back down, “Just said it’s alright. I’m the one who suggested it, right? So let me do what I want to do, Yukimura.”

                Hyouga still wants to argue, but he’s too tired. He leans back on the couch and nods in acceptance. Fubuki-senpai takes it as victory and makes himself more comfortable, legs stretched in front of him and arms propped on the pillows. Hyouga hesitantly moves closer.

                “Okay,” he opens the photo album, “So here’s my first year at Hakuren…”

                And he keeps talking and his voice is calm and it’s not like his mom’s or his dad’s. There’s no blame for the fact that Hyouga’s the reason he’s awake now. Fubuki-senpai just keeps talking, pointing to pictures and smiling, sometimes even letting out a laugh. Sometime later, Nana finds herself on their laps, purring in satisfaction when Hyouga brings a hand to pet her.

                One picture stands out, and Hyouga can’t help a quiet gasp, leaning even closer to see better, “That’s our team,” he says awed.

                It’s the first picture they had when Fubuki-senpai rejoined as the club’s coach. They all gathered in the gym and the club’s advisor took the photo as they laughed at something one of the girl managers said. They all look happy.

                Like a family.

                “Yes,” Fubuki-senpai says and there’s a fond smile on his lips, “Is is.”

                Hyouga tilts his head, but he slowly realizes that it’s gotten heavy and he can’t lift it. It stays on Fubuki-senpai’s shoulder as support.

                “Why—“ he yawns, “Why do you have it here, senpai?”

                Fubuki-senpai hums, “That’s probably because you guys are my team,” he answers, “Maybe it’s because we’re all a little family. Who knows?”

                Hyouga’s eyes don’t leave the picture, “A family,” he mumbles sleepily. His muscles begin to tense as he recalls his mom, before there’s a hand scratching his scalp and he relaxes again.

                “Family doesn’t end in blood, Yukimura,” Fubuki-senpai says, “Sometimes, our family may be a little broken, a little weird. There’s nothing wrong with it. And I see you all as one.”

                Hyouga’s eyes close, “can I get a copy of that photo?” he asks timidly.

                He hears Fubuki-senpai’s quiet, “of course,” before he completely drifts away.

* * *

 

                When Hyouga wakes up the next morning, the clock reads 10 AM and he’s tucked in under the weighted blanket in the quest room’s bed. The sun peeks through the window, setting the room in soft orange and Hyouga slowly sits up, rubbing at his eyes.

                He feels… off.

                He can’t quite place a name on that feeling – it’s not bad, but it’s not good either. If Hyouga was asked to specify, he’d say it’s the feeling he gets when there’s something he’s excited to see but knows he can’t, that it’s going to get taken away soon.

                Then, he remembers his mom in the teacher’s lounge. Remembers Fubuki-senpai standing up for him. He can even recall the look on Yamada-sensei’s face when she saw his mother’s pissed off look. The last one makes him snort.

                When he realizes he’s actually going to have to face his mother, the goofy smile drops and it’s replaced with uneasiness and unexplainable fear of coming back home.

                “Well, that’s just great,” he mutters out and tries to remind himself that he’s been through a lot of situations like this, it’s not going to be easy, but it’s not going to kill him either. He’s going be just fine.

                Except, he’s lying to himself, even right now,

                Because Hyouga never defied them so fiercely before. He’s never had an adult on his side either. In simple words, Hyouga is ultimately screwed.

                There’s a bounce on the bed as Hyouga notices Nana climbing up to jump at his chest, pawing and meowing. Hyouga scratches her under her chin as she lets out a satisfied  purr.

                “Is Fubuki-senpai up?” he asks her softly, hand stilling for a moment when she blinks slowly at him, “I have to—“

                “Have to do what?”

                Hyouga whirls his head to look at the now open door and blinks, “Go home?”

                “You’re asking me, Yukimura?”

                “Uh,” Hyouga shakes his head to get rid of the annoying fog in his mind, “I’m… saying?”

                Fubuki-senpai smiles amused, before he nods his head to Nana, “I was able to hold her off from waking you up only for an hour. She was really persistent.”

                Hyouga’s attention is stolen when Nana attempts to climb on his shoulder, “I can see that,” he says, hand stroking the fur thoughtfully. Nana looks at him, a question in her blue eyes when his hand slows down, before finally dropping to rest on the covers.

                “I have to go home,” he announces at last, and the words feel heavy.

                Fubuki-senpai frowns, “It’s still early.”

                ‘ _Don’t get in the way’._

                Hyouga blinks back tears before looking back at Fubuki-senpai, a forced smile on his face.

                His problems aren’t Fubuki-senpai’s to bear. His family isn’t Fubuki-senpai’s concern. Hyouga doesn’t want to become too much, doesn’t want to be told that he’s making it up. He can’t lose Fubuki-senpai again. He’s gotten too attached to even consider messing this one up.

                “My parents will worry,” he says and it feels like a lie when it shouldn’t feel like one, it should come out of his mouth easily. Instead, each word is harder to speak, all of it feels like one big excuse to his ears.

                He doesn’t want to leave.

                Fubuki-senpai’s house feels safe. It feels like home.

                Hyouga misses what ‘home’ really meant.

                “You will eat breakfast first, Yukimura,” is Fubuki-senpai’s offer, “and then I can drive you back.”

                Hyouga nods, feels exhaustion come back to his bones, settle there and make his body move sluggishly. Feels the familiar anxiety that was born when Hyouga stopped obeying his parents’ every word seeping through his skeleton and wrap itself around his heart.

                He thinks of his mother, of art, of sugar-coated words that made him guilty about wanting things for himself and clenches his fingers on the sheets.

* * *

 

                His mother is not happy.

                When Hyouga enters the house, it feels colder than usual, with every step the dread becomes wilder and wilder, beating on his ribs, squeezing. Like a monkey that begs to be let out of its cage. Hyouga tries to be positive – there’s nothing to worry, he’s done nothing wrong.

                He leaves his shoes by the shoe rack, but doesn’t bother undressing. He goes straight to the living room, moving almost like on auto-pilot, like it’s someone else steering him and making him stand, stiff and tense, in front of his parents by the table.

                “I’m home,” he says, and it feels shameful despite the fact that Hyouga did nothing, absolutely nothing bad.

                There’s a long silence at that. Hyouga’s hands shake so he intertwines them and hides behind his back.

                “You’ve disappointed us, Hyouga,” his father begins and it’s wrong, wrong to hear, it stings like a Band-Aid being peeled off too slowly, “Didn’t we let you decide for yourself long enough?”

                Hyouga swallows, his heart stuck in his throat, “You did.”

                It’s not the right thing to say. His mother stands up in a flash, and then she’s in front of him, eyes clouded with something akin to madness. She looks crazy. She looks scary. Hyouga can’t move, can’t look away, so he just stares, feeling the cold sweat on his back.

                “Then why,” she’s hissing out, voice sharp, “did you embarrass me like this in front of Yamada-san?” She places a small hand on his arm, and digs her long nails into the material of his uniform, “I come and beg for them to let you join another club. I come and say, “my son is so talented, he’s be lucky to master his skills here,” and then you—“

                Every word feels like a punch to his gut. Like the daggers are digging into him. They twist and don’t pull out. And it hurts. She’s not hurting him yet and it still hurts like she is. Like there’s a pain he can’t see, can’t quite place on his body.

Hyouga whimpers, pathetically.

“I’ve done everything to make you happy,” she snarls, “I’ve paid for your stuff. I feed you. I clothe you. I give you a roof over your head. And this is the thanks I get!?”

The last sentence is almost a shout. Hyouga forces down the urge to cover his ears.

“I’m sorry,” he says, but it’s drowned out by her next words.

“Imagine our surprise,” she tightens her grip on his arm and brings him closer, eyes wild, “when we find out you’ve been not only keeping your trainings with that man a secret, you’ve also been sneaking out at night to visit this—this poor excuse of a woman,” her face twists in disgust.

Hyouga feels like a string being pulled and pulled.

“It’s not like that,” he tries to explain, to  defend himself despite the fact that the room spins, it’s too hot and too cold at the same time and his father is standing up too, and his eyes burn into his skull.

“Are they better than us?” he asks meekly.

Hyouga’s mind stutters to a stop at the sudden change of topic.

“What?” he whispers out.

“Don’t play dumb, Hyouga,” his father stands by his mother, tilts his head, “Do you want them to be your family instead? Is that it?”

“They are not your parents!” his mother bites out, “We are. We love you.”

She abruptly lets go of his arm and he stumbles back, confused.

“They don’t know what’s good for you,” his father continues, and Hyouga doesn’t get it, he doesn’t understand what’s going on, “You’re our son, Hyouga. We know what’s best for you.”

Hyouga takes a step back, terrified out of his mind, because that’s not it. That’s now what it was all about. Hyouga… Hyouga didn’t do anything wrong.

(Or did he?”)

“No,” he mouths, because his voice doesn’t work.

                It’s like he’s the string on the bow, strained, waiting for the release—

                “Yes,” his mother whispers, “Let us love you, sweetheart. Let us make you happy. You’re good at art, you can be perfect.”

                —then, it snaps.

                Hyouga is shaking his head, slowly backing away before he breaks into sprint and runs to his room, locking the door and sliding down it. His breath is heavy and anxiety pushes at his chest, before Hyouga hears footsteps at his door.

                “Hyouga!”

                He covers his ears, ignoring how they bang their hands on the wood.

                “Let us in. Now!”

                He curls up, gasping.

                Then, there’s nothing. No noise, no yells in the hall, no thuds.

                Hyouga never leaves the ground.

* * *

 

                Life never stops because you want it to. It doesn’t look at someone and say, “damn, they got it rough, let’s leave them alone.” That’s not how it works, so Hyouga the next day, he pushes himself so far and so long, that he finally gets out of the house.

                He pretends it doesn’t hurt when they don’t even spare him a glance.

                The cold air hits him square in the face, it bites his already oversensitive skin and cuts. Hyouga knows he won’t survive the winter if he doesn’t buy himself a proper jacket, so he digs out the last of his money and makes a decision to buy it today. It will probably hurt his lunch budget a lot, but Hyouga prefers being hungry than cold.

                He’s crossing through the fence when he notices the familiar car outside Miyuki-san’s house. He considers just passing by it – he’s already bothered both adults enough, before he remembers the mall is way farther than school and Hyouga would have to take bus. He doesn’t have enough money for a two-way ticket.

                He hesitates at the gate, before he shakes his head and makes his way towards the door.

                It swings open the second he’s rising his hand to knock.

                “Yukimura-kun!”

                Hyouga swallows down, and wills his heart to stop racing at the suddenness of the situation and manages to smile weakly, “Miyuki-san, you scared me.”

                She looks at him. Really looks at him, like she’s seeing him for the first time. She snaps out of it the second he shivers and quickly ushers him inside, without even giving him a choice. Hyouga bites down a flinch when she accidently pushes too hard.

                “What are you doing outside in just your shirt?” she fusses over him, “It’s freezing out there!”

                “Um, yes. About that, I—“

                He cuts himself off, stopping just short outside the living room area, the self-doubt he tries to stifle down coming back full force and he remembers his mother’s angry face, his father’s disappointed look and their words.

                _‘They are not your parents!’_

                Who is Hyouga to even ask them to drive him to mall?

                “I’m sorry,” slips out and he already starts to back away and in the direction of the door, hands tightening on the money inside his pockets, “I should go—“

                “So soon?” Fubuki-senpai appears in the threshold with a cup of something hot, “You just got here, Yukimura.”

_‘They are not your parents!’_

                Hyouga looks away.

                “You were going to ask something,” Miyuki-san points out, “Is that why you’re here only in your shirt?”

                ‘They are not your parents!’

                ‘We are!”

                “Nothing.”

                Fubuki-senpai looks him over. Miyuki-san puts her hands on her hips and huffs, “Don’t give me that bullcrap, Yukimura-kun. Spit it out.”

                Hyouga takes a shaky breath _, ‘They are not your parents!’_ , and laughs awkwardly to cover up the fact that he’s terrified of asking and just says it, “I—I need a ride,” at their questioning looks, he explains, “to the mall. It’s too far and—,” _I don’t have enough money for the bus AND the jacket_ , “and I just thought—“

                “Just let me finish my tea first, Yukimura,” Fubuki-senpai says in between Hyouga trying to gasp for his breath and Miyuki-san’s enlightened eyes, “And I can take you. Is that alright?”

                Hyouga’s too busy gawking at him to do anything more than nod. Miyuki-san takes advantage of that and pushes him inside the small living room, “Take a seat, I’ve got something for you.”

                “For me?” he asks confused as she brings out a big box and puts it in front of him, “Oh, what’s that?”

                “Open it.”

                “What?”

                “Go on!” she hurries him, “I originally planned to give it to you later but I couldn’t resist.”

                Hyouga’s gulps down and slowly lifts the lid. Then, his eyes widen, “Is that—?”

                “A sweater, yes,” she nods as he brings it out of the box, watched by both her and Fubuki-senpai on the other side of the room, “Do you like it?”

                Hyouga nods again, this time more eagerly, but still as perplexed as before, not even hesitating to put it on and relieving in the softness of it. As he runs his fingers on the dark blue material, Miyuki-san smiles softly at him.

                “You knit, don’t you, Yukimura-kun?” Hyouga stares at her, surprised, “You mentioned it once. I thought you’d like something homemade as well, so I tried my hand at it myself. I may be a little rusty, but,” she shrugs, “it’s a thought that counts, huh?”

                Hyouga’s eyes are embarrassingly damp, “Yeah,” he croaks out.

                Fubuki-senpai places his cup on the kitchen island, “Why do you need to go to the mall anyways, Yukimura?”

                Hyouga’s mouth works against him and the words just slip out, “I need a new jacket.”

                “You mean your old one is—“

                “Oh. No. I mean, I don’t have a jacket. At all.” Hyouga hugs himself, “It’s going to be cold this winter, so I thought I could find something cheap.”

                “Are you kidding me?” Miyuki-san shakes her head, “Yukimura-kun, you need some extra puffy, extra warm jacket to survive this year. No kidding. A cheap one is not going to cut it, honey.”

                There’s a beat of silence as Hyouga runs his fingertips on the money in his pocket, “I don’t have enough for a jacket like that,” he admits in small voice.

                Miyuki-san’s expression falls. Fubuki-senpai’s eyes harden.

                “Yukimura-kun…” she starts, in that sad, pitying tone of voice that Hyouga hates, because he doesn’t need that. He doesn’t need them to look at him and spend time with him only because they feel sorry for him, or because Hyouga’s got it bad, because he doesn’t have it the worst.

                He clenches his fist and clears his throat.

                “It’s fine,” he says firmly and hopes she gets the hint and leaves it be, “I just need someone to drive me. If you can’t, I can just get the bus and—“

                “No, I will drive you,” Fubuki-senpai insists, “It’s fine,” he shoots a look to Miyuki-san, “We were just curious.”

                “Right,” Miyuki-san agrees awkwardly.

                Hyouga doesn’t answer to that. He just wraps his arms around himself tighter and clenches his fingers on the material of the sweater. Somehow, he still feels cold.

* * *

 

                The ride to the mall isn’t quiet – it’s not loud either, but it’s tense and uncomfortable. Miyuki-san keeps looking at him, and Hyouga can feel Fubuki-senpai’s concerned aura. It itches and stings, and Hyouga wonders for a moment why they’re acting like that, before he remembers.

                How the whole situation at school went down, how Hyouga came back home with Fubuki-senpai instead of coming back to his parents, how they retrieved his spare clothes from Miyuki-san. Hyouga doesn’t want to assume, but it should be clear by now, that even if Hyouga is still waiting for them to leave, they do care about him.

                And he still hasn’t said anything about what happened when he came back home.

                “It was fine,” he said suddenly, and Miyuki-san whirls around in her seat to face him, “They weren’t that mad,” he lied.

                Fubuki-senpai’s knuckles whiten on the steering wheel.

                “It sounded serious from what Fubuki has told me,” Miyuki-san says and her usual stern expression has melted back to mild concern, “I know I don’t look like that, but that had me worried, Yukimura-kun.”

                “Worried?” Hyouga laughs nervously, “No. They were fine. Just—“

                _‘They are not your parents!’_

                “—just surprised, that’s all,” he finishes lamely.

                Miyuki-san frowns, “You told me you loved soccer from the beginning. How is this different then?”

                Hyouga feels a stab in his heart and something deep inside him hurts at those words. It’s not something he’d admit out loud – his parents love him, they do! – but Miyuki-san is right. He didn’t just take up soccer now. Soccer has been with him from the start.

                Hyouga looks down.

                Why were his parents mad at him if they knew that?

                “It was never going to work out,” he says quietly, “I always knew that I would have to quit eventually.”

                Why did they act that way? Why were they so angry? What did Hyouga do wrong?

                “What do you mean you always knew?” Miyuki-san’s voice goes serious.

                Fubuki-senpai speaks up, suddenly, “They told him.”

                Hyouga stills for a moment, before nodding his head, “Yes. I knew it when I first came here, to Hakuren. It was a matter of time before they’d told me to quit soccer club.”

                “You love soccer.”

                Hyouga looks at her, “With all my heart.”

                “Then why would they make you quit?”

                Hyouga smiles a little bitterly and shrugs, “Because art—“

                Is more important than Hyouga. Because they hate soccer. Because all they care about it money and Hyouga is still hoping that’s not the case, that he’s wrong and they love him and just don’t understand. But he knows—

                _‘They are not your parents!’_

                “— can make sure I will have the means to live on my own. If someone doesn’t scout me, soccer isn’t an option. Art is just a safer choice.”

                He knows that his parents don’t really care. That the love they give him is not right. Hyouga knows, but he still hopes, because he can’t just throw them away. He can’t move out, he can’t live with somebody else, and they’re not hurting him. Not really.

                There’s nothing he can do.

                He knows that. He always did.

                “What about what you want, Yukimura-kun?”

                Hyouga wants to sleep. He wants to sleep and wake up and find out it’s all just a stupid nightmare – that he’s not actually considering the fact that his parents may not love him the way they should. That they love who Hyouga can be, who they see, and not who Hyouga actually is.

                He doesn’t want to do art.

                “I’m going to be an artist, anyway,” he admits, “It doesn’t matter.”

                He rubs his  hands, a phantom pain going through his fingers.

                “It does matter, because you’re not an object,” Fubuki-senpai says and his voice is rough, as if he was fighting something inside himself, “You have a say in what you want, Yukimura. You don’t have to do what they say just because they say it’s the right thing.”

                Hyouga smiles.

                It’s an ugly smile – crooked at the edges and forced in some places. Mostly, Hyouga can feel he smiles only for the sake of not coming off as someone who’s so deep into this mess that he doesn’t know how to get out.

                He knows he never had the choice.

                He thought he did. But he also thought other things:

                That his parents cared.

                That people wouldn’t just leave him.

                That Hyouga’s worth something more than a ruler on his fingers.

                That he doesn’t need to be perfect.

                It’s all a lie. Hyouga doesn’t have a say in what happens to him now – he’s a minor, and even if school has his back, even if Fubuki-senpai and Miyuki-san support him, Hyouga’s all alone at home. There’s no one to come and rescue him. There’s no one to confirm that Hyouga isn’t going crazy, that his parents aren’t the best.

                No one, but Hyouga.

                No one but doors they keep locked in.

                Hyouga doesn’t know how it feels to come back home and not feel like he’s a burden and utter failure.

                “I know,” he says anyways to Fubuki-senpai and he sees the man grit his teeth, and yet his expression remains pinched and he doesn’t answer.

                Hyouga can tell it’s bothering him.

* * *

 

                As Hyouga looks through the clothes section, he sees a young girl with her parents passing by with ice-cream. The sight of their happy faces and relaxed postures makes Hyouga pause with his hand still gripping one of the cheaper winter jackets.

                He remembers being this happy, once.

                His  mother used to sing lullabies a lot – Hyouga always had a hard time falling asleep and her voice used to be kind and soothing. She hugged him, kissed him goodnight. Hyouga knows that something must have changed – that something switched in her when Hyouga was younger – because his memories become blurrier and scarier after that.

                His father never smiled much – Hyouga never paid attention to it until now. His father with his obsession of getting things right, of being perfect and selling the best products. Hyouga never liked the way they looked – forced and without soul. He remembers his father telling him to draw, and draw more, until Hyouga’s hands hurt from holding the pencil. He remembers the sting of the ruler on his fingers.

                He unconsciously grips the material of the jacket he’s holding tighter.

                This girl didn’t have to do what Hyouga had to. She’s still in the age where Hyouga’s parents were mostly normal.                

                “See something you like, Yukimura-kun?” Miyuki-san asks, looking up from her phone and Hyouga snaps his eyes to her, “You kind of spaced out for a minute here.”

                Hyouga was so caught in his thoughts that he actually forgot about Miyuki-san standing next to him and Fubuki-senpai also looking at the winter clothes section a few meters away from them.

                “Not really,” he answers, letting go of the jacket after noticing that the price is too high for his pocket money.

                Miyuki-san glances at the jacket he was holding, “Yeah. This one is hideous,” she agrees, before she looks at Fubuki-senpai, “Are you shopping for something, too?”

                “Just looking.”

                Hyouga returns to searching through the racks, ignoring the conversation.

                Miyuki-san nods, “Well, come here and help us look. I swear, there’s so much ugliness that—“

                Hyouga stops at faded blue winter coat and lets out a delighted gasp when he sees the price. He quickly takes it off the rack and runs his hand on the material. It’s not the puffy kind Miyuki-san insisted he should get and it’s not heavy either like Fubuki-senpai’s jacket. It’s mostly lightweight and probably wouldn’t do much about the cold, but Hyouga knows he won’t find anything better.

                Or at least, anything that wouldn’t be too expensive for him now.

                “Oh. No. No way, Yukimura-kun,” Miyuki-san snatches the jacket out of his hand before he can do anything about it and glares at it, “I won’t have you be a fashion failure like that.”

                Fubuki-senpai raises an eyebrow at her, “Aren’t you exaggerating?”

                Miyuki-san lets out an offended noise, before she thinks about it, “Maybe. But it’s not only ugly, but also thin. Look at it,” she pokes at it, “It shouldn’t even be called a jacket.”

                “But,” Hyouga cuts in, and tries to take it back, “It’s cheap.”

                “So?”

                Hyouga almost rolls his eyes, “So, it’s good enough.”

                Fubuki-senpai eyes the jacket critically, “Miyuki is right. This winter is going to be nasty, Yukimura. You need something thicker.”

                Hyouga sighs, “It’s fine.”

                “No. It really isn’t.”

                Hyouga narrows his eyes when Miyuki-san makes her way towards the racks to hang back the jacket, “It’s enough for now.”

                “Yukimura—“

                “It’s fine,” he insists and thinks back to his mother and how she used to say that he doesn’t need that much clothes, that he can still wear his old ones. He thinks of all the times he had to go out in wrinkled and ragged clothes. No would ever bat an eye.               

                What makes this situation so different?

                Miyuki-san huffs, frustrated, “Why can’t you just take something better than this?”

                Hyouga’s mother never cared about it. Or maybe, she did once and stopped when Hyouga started to transfer schools.  It too much effort to buy him proper, warm clothes that didn’t look like they were taken out of the trash can.

                It’s not like Hyouga’s parents are poor. It’s not even that Hyouga’s parents didn’t clothe him.

                It’s that until they said so, Hyouga wouldn’t get anything new. If something was deemed good enough to wear for them, Hyouga would wear it until holes would start appear on them.

                “It’s cheap,” he repeats.

                “You will freeze out there!”

                Fubuki-senpai keeps quiet when Hyouga runs a hand through his hair, “That’s all I can afford now, Miyuki-san,” he says finally.

                Miyuki-san’s face goes cold, “What do you mean? Didn’t your mom give you the money?”

                “It’s my pocket money.”

                “Pocket money—!” she starts outraged.

                “Miyuki-san, please,” Hyouga starts and trails off, realizing that he actually doesn’t know how to say what he wants to say. How to express  that the situation is not a big deal – that Hyouga’s used to that and he doesn’t need her pity.

                The woman stares at him, conflicted, “Yukimura-kun, you shouldn’t have to do that.”

                There’s a lot of things Hyouga shouldn’t have to do, but does. Like paying for his clothes and making his own dinner, because most of the time, his parents are either ignoring him or they’re at work. He can count on the fingers of his one hand how many times he’s eaten a meal with them at the same table. He shouldn’t have to fear coming back home, he shouldn’t feel like he’s worthless to them.

                But he does.

                “Maybe,” he agrees, although they both can tell he doesn’t really mean that, “But that’s what I do.”

                Hyouga doesn’t want to admit it out loud – that he sometimes wishes his parents were different, more welcoming to his personality, more loving. Hyouga knows they only show their affection when he’s doing art.

                “How about we buy you a nice, thick jacket as a Christmas present, then?”

                Hyouga snaps his eyes to look at Fubuki-senpai, alarmed, “No! No, you don’t have to do that—“

                Miyuki-san tsks at him, “Yukimura-kun, we’re not the people who do things because we have to,” she finally hangs back the jacket on the rack, “We want to do this because we care about you,” then she side-eyes the jacket, “and because I can’t stand that fashion disaster.”

                “Christmas is three months away, though,” Hyouga points out and pretends his heart doesn’t swell with warmth, “I don’t need—I already got the sweater—“

                Miyuki-san waves him off, then turns to Fubuki-senpai, “You already found something, didn’t you? That’s why you’ve been looking at those coats?”

                Hyouga looks helplessly between both of them, “But—!”

                “I did, actually,” he nods, then smiles at Hyouga who nervously shifts his weight from one leg to another, “Would you like to try it on, Yukimura?”

                There’s tension around his shoulders and Hyouga can practically feel the weight of his money in his pocket, mocking him. He grips his hand tighter around it and sets his face into a determined frown, “At least let me pay for half of it, senpai.”

                Miyuki-san opens her mouth to protest, but something passes on Fubuki-senpai’s face, too fast for Hyouga to indentify, and he nods his agreement.

                Hyouga relaxes at that, the invisible burden lifting from his shoulders and he takes a deep breath, “Alright.”

                It feels like he’s saying yes to something entirely different.

 

* * *

 

 

                The jacket is light blue, with a fake white fur collar around the hood and deep pockets. It fits Hyouga suspiciously well, isn’t suffocating him and yet, isn’t too big, either. Hyouga is actually surprised to find out it also has fake fur on the inside and  warms him up as soon as he puts it on.

                “Well?” Miyuki-san asks, standing outside the dressing room, “How is it?”        

                Hyouga opens his mouth to answer, but when the realization that he can actually get that jacket, makes him choke up. He looks into the mirror and tries to understand why, but there’s only that tight feeling in his throat.

                He feels like he doesn’t deserve it – like he’s just using Miyuki-san’s and Fubuki-senpai’s kindness.

                “G-good,” he croaks out, then coughs, “It’s good.”

                “It’s not too big?” Fubuki-senpai throws in.

                Hyouga shakes his head, “No. It’s good.”

                He can’t bring himself to say anything more. He quietly shrugs it off and looks away when he sees the price tag. Fubuki-senpai said it’s okay. Hyouga will pay for it as well. There’s nothing bad happening and yet…

                _‘They are not your parents!’_ is still echoing in Hyouga’s mind and he wonders.

                What if his parents are right? What if Hyouga is better off doing art than playing soccer? What if Fubuki-senpai leaves again? What if Miyuki-san gets tired of him?

                Maybe Hyouga should stop clinging to them.

                He shakes his head, takes the jacket and leaves the dressing room with a worried frown. If Miyuki-san noticed, she didn’t say anything. Neither did Fubuki-senpai, even when they were paying and Hyouga hesitated with taking the bag.

                They enter Fubuki-senpai’s car and Hyouga wants to ask about whatever relationship they have. He wants to make sure he’s not making it all up, that he’s not pushing both of them into something they don’t want. That Hyouga’s not just another kid that searches for parents in strangers.

                He can’t say the words.

                He wonders why.

 

* * *

 

                His parents aren’t home when he comes back.

                His heart breaks just a little more.

 

* * *

 

                It’s one of those days when Hyouga can’t deal with the day – there’s something pushing and wrapping itself around his chest. He can’t focus at morning practice, can’t quite grasp where is what and he keeps running into his teammates. Fubuki-senpai keeps throwing looks at him. For the first time since he’s met the man, Hyouga ignores him and goes off to the roof.

                He’s not alone this time.

                “You come here often.”

                Hyouga remembers her, it’s the same girl that told him about the Talent Show – the blonde haired, red-eyed soccer club manager that keeps the club members pumped and motivated. He always sees her talking with teachers, helping students that have problems with studying. If he recalls correctly, she’s actually a tutor.

                “Yeah,” he says and takes his place against the door, “I do.”

                Risuna Kou’s a good girl. Hyouga just doesn’t know why she bothers being so happy all the time.

                “Something on your mind, Yukimura-kun?” she asks and Hyouga wants to deny it, at first, before whatever is pressing at his chest, snaps and he nods, once, “Would you like to talk about it?”

                Hyouga doesn’t know.

                He feels like he wants to, like he needs to otherwise he will go crazy.  

                He doesn’t know if he’s supposed to talk about it.

                In the end, he looks up at the sky and says quietly, “I don’t know what to do.”

                Kou hums to herself as she takes a seat next to him, glancing at the clouds above, “About what?”

                “Everything,” he mutters out, before he sighs, “Soccer. My parents.”

                Kou is quiet for a moment, “They don’t want you to play soccer,” she states rather than asks, but Hyouga still nods. Her smile fades a little and she doesn’t try to hide it, maybe she knows Hyouga doesn’t like when people fake their feelings, “That’s tough.”

                “Yeah.”

                “You know,” she says and her voice is small, and yet unwavering, “My parents didn’t want me to be a manager. I was actually supposed to join the music club,” at Hyouga’s look, she laughs, “Yeah. I play piano.”

                “Piano?”

                Kou nods, “But I don’t actually like the piano. It’s nice, but,” she fidgets with her hands, “I don’t want to be a musician. I want to be a journalist.”

                Hyouga sits up, crossing his legs, “Then why are you a manager now?”

                “Because I have friends here,” she says bluntly and smiles fondly as if she was replaying some memories in her mind, “I actually like being with the team and. And it makes me happy. Piano always made me sad. I don’t like it.”

                Hyouga thinks back to art, how it made his hands hurt, his eyes sting and how everything was supposed to be perfect. How art went from a place where Hyouga could express himself, to something that resembled a prison.

                “So,” she continues, “I said to them, ‘I’m joining the soccer club,’ and man, they freaked out.”

                Hyouga blinks, “And?”

                “And I did. They fought with me a lot about it. Took away my notes, cut back my pocket money. Told me to play piano.” Kou’s red eyes seem duller, “They still hate soccer. It’s unladylike for  them. Too dirty.”

                Hyouga swallows, “But you’re still our manager.”

                “Yeah!” she takes a deep breath, “I am. And I found people who actually give a damn about what I want to be. Yamada-sensei actually let me write our newspaper, once. She said I have a good style, so,” she shrugs, “Here I am. My parents still aren’t pleased with what I do, but sometimes,” she glances at him, “parents aren’t good at being parents. And that’s okay, you know why?”

                “Why?”

                “Because there are people out there that care about us the same way they should, even though there are no blood bonds between us.”

                Hyouga lets it sink in as she stands up, dusts off her skirt and winks at him, “So keep that in mind, okay? You’re a really good soccer player, Yukimura-kun.”

                She leaves the roof and Hyouga leans back.

 

* * *

 

                Hyouga doesn’t meet up with Fubuki-senpai or Miyuki-san, and instead he holes up in his room, eats his leftover lunch, does his homework and then he sits down by his desk and pulls out a stack of papers from his bottom drawer.

                He spreads them around the room, glares at some of them and then, he picks the second best drawing and rips it apart. Slowly. Enjoying the sound of killing the thing that made Hyouga feel like a failure.

                It feels good.

                Like he’s destroying something bad about himself, like he’s getting rid of it.

                He takes another drawing and another. And he rips them. Crushes them. Stomps on them. Throws them into the trash can and is half tempted to burn them if not for the fact that he’d probably end up setting the house on fire.

                Pieces and pieces of paper land in the trash and as he goes out to throw them in, he sees Fubuki-senpai’s car parked outside Miyuki-san’s house. He doesn’t spare it a second thought and goes back inside and it feels stupid, like he’s hiding.

                But Hyouga is not hiding.

                Kou said, ‘they took away my notes’ and it’s almost like she’s saying, ‘they took away my love’ just because they could, because they were adults. She knew that was bad. She knew it and yet, Hyouga could feel that she still loves her parents.

                It would be hard to hate them.

                Hyouga knows, because despite everything, he can’t bring himself to feel resentment for his own parents.

                But he knows it’s bad and Kou knew it, too. Hyouga could feel the pain in her voice when she said, ‘I don’t even like piano’. Hyouga hated art. He loved soccer, loved violin. Liked knitting and singing lullabies.

                So no, Hyouga is not hiding. Not anymore. He doesn’t feel like he has to.

                He goes back inside and waits for them to come back home. He eats his dinner in the meantime, the leftover pizza he bought at local supermarket last week, washes the dishes and by the time the front door opens, it’s six pm and Hyouga is feeling oddly calm.

                They come into the living room, still dressed in their work clothes and Hyouga waits a minute, just enough for them to see that he’s there, before he says, “I hate art.”

                There’s a scowl on his father’s face and his mother’s steel eyes bore holes inside him, “Excuse us?”

                “I hate it,” he says and it’s all coming out, there’s nothing inside his throat this time. He feels empty, hot and cold at the same time, but he doesn’t shake, he can’t shake. He knows there’s no backing down now.

                “Hyouga…”

                “I love soccer,” he pushes on  and takes a step forward, wants them to understand, “I don’t want to be a designer or an artist. I don’t want to quit the soccer club. I want to train with Fubuki-senpai and meet with Miyuki-san and,” he slowly locks his gaze with his mother’s, “and you can’t stop me.”

                There.

                He said.

                Something unclenches in his chest and his soul soars with that feeling, his heart races and he waits for their reaction.

                His mother’s eyes turn angry, “I know what’s best for you, Hyouga. You will listen to me.”

                “Art is the only thing you’re decent at,” his father adds, “You will follow in my footsteps. It’s what you’re meant to be.”

                Hyouga shakes his head and lets out a shaky, but sure, “No.”

                His father’s eyes widen, but his mother crosses the room in a second and Hyouga feels it, even before she slaps him across his face, the pain of being rejected, of being a disappointment in her eyes.

                “You will do as I say,” she says firmly.

                Hyouga can’t back down.

                He can’t.

                He won’t.

                “I won’t quit soccer,” he repeats and it feels like a promise, like an oath that Hyouga doesn’t intend to break this time. It’s the first time he stands up like this, first time he doesn’t let his mother push him into his place.

                Her eyebrow twitches, “I won’t allow it.”

                School has his back, he remembers before he can panic, “I won’t do it,” he repeats, “Because I love it and I want to keep playing.”

                And then, something unexpected happens and she grabs his hair and pulls and it hurts. Hyouga yelps in surprise, and tries to wiggle free, but she doesn’t let up. This time, his heart jumps in fear.

                “I don’t care,” she seethes, “I know what’s good for you.”

                “No—“ he whimpers.

                “Yes,” she hisses and digs her nails into his head, “Maybe I should punish you, Hyouga? Would that convince you to stop acting so childish and grow the fuck up?”

                Hyouga gasps and maybe it’s that brief wave of anger he feels – the unfairness of the situation, of being humiliated and belittled, of trying to do something for himself and being accused of being selfish – but it allows him to dig his heels into the ground and kick at her feet. It shocks her just long enough so Hyouga could pull away and put some distance between them.

                “I don’t care!” he shouts and his voice is scratchy and trembling, because he’s scared, he’s so damn scared, “I want to play soccer!”

                “You will join the art club!”

                “No!” he cries out and grabs the nearest object, maybe to defend himself because she looks like she’s ready to bounce on him like a wild animal, “I won’t! I want to play, so I will play! I’ve had enough of—of being treated like th-this,” his voice breaks and his parents stare at him, “I’m tired of coming back home and—and being alone. Do you—do you even know how lo-lonely it gets?”

                He grits his teeth and throws them a venomous look, “And you don’t even c-care! Art is all that matters for you. Not me. You just want the money you will—,” a sob escapes his mouth, “that you will get out of me. You don’t want me.”

                It hurts, burns his chest, digs into his heart and punches him in the face.

                And yet, he’s said it.

                He puts down the object he took when he notices they’re too stunned to attack him and wipes his tears away, angrily, “ _You don’t want me_ ,” he says bitterly, “You never cared about what I wanted. You just, you just wanted me to be like you and I’m,” he breathes out, “I don’t want that. I want to play soccer with my friends. I want to be happy, and _you just_ _don’t care_!”

                The bewildered silence that follows almost deafens him. Hyouga looks up to see them better, but they’re standing and staring at him, like they don’t know who he is, like he’s a stranger shouting at them and demanding God knows what.

                It aches all over and Hyouga knows what that means.

                Disappointment. Rejection.

                He can’t bear to be around them, not like this, not when it feels like something is tearing him apart from the inside. He takes one last look at them, before he takes his new jacket and the scarf, and he runs out the door.

                They don’t even call out to him.

 

* * *

 

                Hyouga is actually glad for the fact that Fubuki-senpai and Miyuki-san bought him that jacket, otherwise Hyouga is sure he’d freeze the second he’s outside. It’s not windy yet, he thanks the universe for that, but it’s cold enough for him to wrap his scarf around himself tighter and stuff his hands in his pockets.

                He doesn’t know how long he walks, but he still ends up on school grounds, on the familiar bench, on the same old soccer field.

                There’s no one there, but him.

                _‘Sometimes, parents aren’t good at being parents,_ ’ Kou has said.

                Hyouga lets out a choked sob.

                Somehow, it still feels like it’s his fault. Like somehow, he’s the one to blame – like he’s the burden to them, because they had to move so many times because of him. Logically, he knows that’s not the case, that it was Fifth Sector’s doing and Hyouga was the victim.

                It doesn’t ease the guilt in his chest.

                It doesn’t make the raw pain in his chest go away.

                Because his parents still hate him for the way he is. There’s that unexplainable hate for soccer despite Hyouga’s love for it.

                And he gets it, kind of. They want him to have a safe future, they know he’d succeed in art if he put his heart in it. It’s that simple – they want the best for him. Something they know he’s good at that’s worth pursuing.

                The thing is – that was never what Hyouga wanted.

                Even if soccer is risky, it makes him happy. Makes him forget the loneliness he has to face on the daily basis. He just has to kick the ball, play and give his all and it’s always enough for his teammates, for his coach.

                And Hyouga would rather fail at something he loves, than succeed at something he hates.

                As the air gets crisper, and the sky gets darker, Hyouga wraps his arms around himself and waits for something he knows won’t come.

                Because no one will offer Hyouga the answer.

                There’s no magic solution to what’s happening.

                But that’s fine.

                Hyouga can wait. He’s gotten good at it.

 

* * *

 

                When Hyouga comes back home, it’s way past ten pm and he doesn’t sleep that night. His mind is still racing, his parents are nowhere to be found and Hyouga’s too tired.

                The next day at morning practice, Kou catches his eye and waves at him.

                He feels numb and logically, he knows it’s because he hasn’t rested, that he should’ve gotten rid of the negative energy that’s pumping in his blood. He’s still in fight-or-flight mode, he’s on edge. It feels like he’s stuck on 59 from 60 point scale.

                “Coach Fubuki,” Kou speaks up quietly and Hyouga is glad she actually caught what he was trying to say, “I think Yukimura-kun should sit this one out.”

                Fubuki-senpai looks at him concerned and there’s probably a question at the tip of his tongue, but he nods and doesn’t say anything about Hyouga’s obvious fatigue. Hyouga isn’t sure he’d be able to answer.

                “Thanks,” he whispers to Kou and takes his seat on the bench. She nods in acknowledgment, before she’s kidnapped by the other managers and Hyouga curls up on himself.

                Hyouga feels bad for missing out practice, but the atmosphere around makes up for his lack of presence on the field and he loses some of the tension. His teammates still throw worried looks at him, but Hyouga knows they won’t ask. Not until Hyouga shows that he wants to talk about it.

                So they leave him be. The practice ends and it’s fine, Hyouga’s fine except he’s actually, really not fine.

                Especially when it turns out that this time both of his parents visit Hakuren and Yamada-sensei looks even more distressed than before.

                He halts in the hallways, mind too numb to properly register the sight of both of them next to his homeroom teacher. Like he’s stuck in third person, just watching it all happen.

                “He can stay in the soccer club,” his mother says and it doesn’t feel like a blessing, more like an off-hand comment that’s supposed to make him feel better, but instead it lights up something inside of him, something ugly.

                “But please make sure to not notify us of his progress,” his father says, “We don’t to know.”

                And they leave. Just like that. While Hyouga is standing in the hallway, eyes dead, Yamada-sensei finally notices him and she opens her mouth before she catches sight of someone else behind himand what slips out is, “Fubuki-san—!” before Hyouga grips his bag and passes her without looking back.

                Because this time Hyouga’s parents don’t appear to care about him at all, there’s no fight in them anymore. It makes the numbness inside of him spread all the way up to his heart, then to his mind – making it colder and colder.

                This moment is clear to Hyouga now.

                ‘He can stay in soccer club’ is their subtle way of telling him to read between the lines and for once, Hyouga actually knows what that means – rejection. It looks like they understand, it even made Yamada-san surprised, but Hyouga knows better. The ‘he can stay in soccer club’ could also be said as ‘you are not out son anymore’ and it would still make sense, because the meaning is practically the same.

                There’s no anger anymore. No fight for him. This little fact seems to break whatever was left of Hyouga’s restored confidence and happiness. It feels, almost, as if Hyouga was slapped in a face with a rag.

                And—

                They don’t care.

                And Hyouga is free, and yet, it feels like he’s not free at all.  

                If anything, it feels more empty and more hollow than ever.

 

* * *

 

                Hyouga doesn’t show up to practice for two days, simply sitting in his room and staring at the trash can full of drawings Hyouga has yet to throw out. He’s under mountain of blankets, wrapped in Fubuki Atsuya’s scarf because that’s the only thing that seems to take away the darkness in his mind.

                His parents come only to ask whether he intends to show up at school this week or not on the third day. Hyouga doesn’t want to move from his bed, there’s heaviness seeping through his bones and chilling him, but he sits up and looks at them.

                “Why are you doing this?”

                And  when his mother smiles, it’s unpleasant and venomous, “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” she asks.

                “You know best, after all. What’s best for you,” his father throws in.

                Hyouga has cried himself to sleep two nights in the row and yet, his eyes still manage to become damp, “Not like this,” he says in a wavering voice.

                “You can play your dumb soccer,” she says, “You can do whatever you want. If we’re so bad to you, why shouldn’t we let you do that?”

                Hyouga feels tears running down his face, but he doesn’t sob. He’s too tired.

                “Why?” he asks and it feels like a plea, because he doesn’t know, he doesn’t understand how can they go from caring to so cold in a span of days.

                Their smiles are wicked. They look normal, but they’re faked and Hyouga hates them, and then he hates his parents even more for their next words, “Good for you, Hyouga. Now you can be yourself, since we were in your way.”

                He shakes his head, but they leave anyways, only saying to get his ass out the bed and go to school before the teachers start to call them.

                Hyouga stares at the door for full minutes, before he decides that it’s better if he goes – he can’t stand being in the same four walls all the time, because it feels like he’s suffocating in them.

                When he goes downstairs, they ignore him.

                Hyouga doesn’t even glance at them.

 

* * *

 

                Here’s the thing about Hyouga: he picks himself up pretty fast. He knows he has to. And yet when he arrives at the gym, he’s stuck in the threshold, unable to look at the others already on the field. One of his teammate notice him right away and they stop to wave at him.

                Hyouga can’t bare the sight of the ball just yet, it reminds him of his parents for some reason, so he waves back, but he steps back as soon as they don’t look at him anymore. He’s halfway out the corridor when Kou rounds the corner and smiles at him upon seeing him.

                “Coming to practice?”

                “No…,” he hesitates, “I don’t feel like playing.”

                Kou’s smile fades a little, “Yukimura-kun, did something happen?” when he doesn’t give a clear answer beside barely audible mumble, she sighs, “I’m sure Coach Fubuki won’t mind if you sit this one out. You were sick, right?”

                “Yeah.”

                “Then it’s all good! I know how you love soccer. You shouldn’t miss out the team bonding just because you don’t feel like playing,” she takes his arm and pulls him along, “C’mon. We were worried about you!”

                “We?”

                She nods, “All of us. Especially Coach Fubuki.”

                And then Hyouga’s pushed through the door, nearly knocking himself out on the nearest bench, with Kou laughing in the background. It makes Fubuki-senpai look away from the match and look their way.

                “Yukimura-kun isn’t feeling well, but he wanted to watch,” Kou says before Hyouga can panic, “Is that okay, Coach?”

                “It’s… fine,” he says slowly, looking them over, “I wasn’t expecting the two of you today.”

                Hyouga glances at Kou confused, but she brushes it off with a smile, “I had a journaling course, but Yamada-sensei had to cancel, so,” she shrugs, “Now, come on! Sit down!”

                And they both sit down and just as Hyouga thinks he’s off the hook, she leans forward to whisper to him, “Something happened with your parents, am I right?”

                Hyouga nearly gives himself a whiplash as he turns to her, eyes wide, “How did you—?”

                She smiles bitterly and shrugs, “You wouldn’t miss out on practice, Yukimura-kun. Everyone knows that,” she tilts her head towards Fubuki-senpai’s back pointedly, “It’s just not like you.”

                Hyouga waits a moment to make sure no one hears him, before he hangs his head and frowns. It’s true that Hyouga disappearing and not showing up at school is an odd thing, but he’d never think the others would have noticed it.

                He guesses it’s another thing he always gets wrong. How people care about him, who actually gives a slightest damn about him.

                “I told them,” he confesses timidly.

                Kou actually blinks at that, “What? When?”

                This time, Hyouga is the one to smile bitterly, “Three days ago.”

                She leans back, looking overwhelmed with that one, simple statement and Hyouga can’t really blame her. He knows how much courage he had to gather inside of himself to just decide on telling them, less alone doing it so bluntly and expecting it go smoothly. If anyone was to understand the weight of his actions alone, it would be Risuna Kou.

                Maybe Kou has done it the same way. Maybe she didn’t. Hyouga only knows that his own parents disowned him.

                “Yukimura-kun…,” she trails off with astonishment, “You actually did?”

                “Yeah,” he clears his throat as she continues to stare at him awed, “They let me stay here.”

                “That’s great news then, right?”

                Hyouga looks away, “Depends. I don’t think they actually care about anything do to with me anymore after that, so,” he swallows down hard, “so maybe it’s a good thing? I don’t know, it’s just.”

                It’s _just_.

                That’s the way it is. Hyouga has no right to complain, because compared to others, he’s got it fairly easy with parents who only wanted good for him. He’s came to realize that the path they choose for him might have been successful, but it surely wasn’t what made Hyouga happy.

                He wonders, now, if he made the right decision.

                “Did you,” Kou hesitates, throwing yet another look at Fubuki-senpai’s back, “did you tell Coach Fubuki?”

                Hyouga shakes his head, waving his hands around, “No! Of course not!” he whisper-yells at her.

                Kou looks confused, “Why not?”

                “Well, why would I?”

                She puts her finger to her lips, “I just thought you two are close,” she ponders quietly, “You know, Coach basically became a Dad to us all, anyways. So I just assumed, with you being close to Coach, that you think of him as a father figure as well. And you know, tell him stuff like that.”

                “No!”

                Kou blinks, then smirks, “My, my, are you _embarrassed?_ ”

                Indeed, Hyouga turns red and hides his face behind his hands, mumbling, “No,” and then, he hisses out, “I’m not.”

                Kou shrugs, but it seems she agrees only to calm him down, “Sure, whatever you say, Yukimura-kun.”

                “God, you’re so annoying,” he mutters out to her.

                She smiles at him, before she gets serious again, “And I think you should tell Coach about this.”

                “Risuna-san—“

                “Kou, if you please.”

                “Kou-san,” he corrects stiffly, “I don’t think I should bother Fubuki-senpai with something like this. It’s not a big deal.”

                “If it upsets you, then it is a big deal,” she argues, “He’d like to know that, I’m sure.”

                Hyouga sighs and rolls his eyes. Kou pats him on the back, “Would you say it’s not important if in your place it was somebody else?”

                Hyouga flinches at that, “Excuse me?”

                “I just think, Yukimura-kun,” she says and it feels like it’s something more than just a mere observation, “that you don’t see how many people actually have your back here. You’re not alone anymore.”

                “But—“

                She shakes her head, “No. Look, I get it. I’ve been where you’re at right now. It’s hard, but,” she bites her lip and then lets out a deep breath, “But sometimes, we can’t shoulder all that weight alone. Sometimes, we need to rely on someone. And that’s okay, it doesn’t make us weak or stupid or worthless. It makes us human, Yukimura-kun,” she looks back at him, “And you already took the most important step.”

_You stood up for yourself,_ goes unsaid, but Hyouga hears it in her voice anyways.

                As the whistle blows and the match ends, and Kou goes to fetch the water bottles, Hyouga frowns and thinks about what she’s told him. He absentmindedly rubs his chest, trying to get rid of the weird, warm feeling in it.

* * *

 

                Hyouga’s actually a dumb kid. If he were smart, he wouldn’t decide to talk to his parents again.

                But he did.

                And that’s how he ends up with a tense silence by the dinner table, right after they came back from work. With their stares like cold steel, Hyouga feels stupid for even thinking that he could change their perspective.

                “You want us to do what, exactly?” his mother leans back on her chair, narrowing her eyes, “We’ve made ourselves clear, Hyouga. It’s either us or your precious soccer.”

                His father doesn’t even look up at him. Hyouga feels the familiar anger in his chest, rising and rising at that.

                “Why are you making me chose?” he asks, turning his eyes to her.

                “Because you’re wasting your potential, Hyouga,” she answers coolly, “You’re meant for art. Not some ball kicking.”

                “And what if I never do that?” he nearly spits out, hand almost reaching out to her, “Will you never speak to me again? Ignore me like I don’t exist?”

                Words never meant a thing. Hyouga knew that better than most.

                Words never swayed them. Never gave him anything more than pain and fake hope.

                “You’re not our son,” she says and it feels like he’s being slapped and stabbed million times, “Not if you disobey us like that.”

                “Not your son,” he mumbles, forming fists.

                She leers at him, “What’s wrong, Hyouga? We’ve told you over and over again. Art is what you’re supposed to do.”

                “ _Art_ ,” he repeats hollowly.

                “That’s right,” she nods, as if she was making a point, as if she thought Hyouga was starting to see reason, “You’re good at it.”

                “I’m good at soccer,” he points out, takes a step forwards and watches as her face twists into a grimace, “Even Fubuki-senpai said so!”

                “Fubuki-senpai?”

                Hyouga shakes his head, “Coach Fubuki. You know him, Mom.”

                “He’s the one rebelling you against us.”

                “He’s not rebelling me!”

                “Don’t raise your voice at your mother, Hyouga!”

                “But you don’t listen!” he says, desperately, closing the distance so he could look at her properly, make her see the aggravation in his eyes, “Soccer is what makes me happy. Why can’t you accept that?”

                He hates the way his voice breaks at the end, and the tears that threaten to slide down his cheeks and his trembling body and fear that seeps through his bones to his mind, at how quickly his mother’s face goes from cold to unforgiving.

                “Because I don’t have to, Hyouga. Because I’ve raised you to be something more than a trash kicking a ball. I didn’t fed you, clothe you and moved schools just so you could turn out like that disaster of a Coach – Fubuki Shirou.”

                “What are you even talking about?” he snaps.

                “Haven’t you heard, Hyouga?” his father speaks over his mother, “He’s well known here – a boy who lost his family in an avalanche, then went crazy from grief. Do you want to be like him?”

                Hyouga’s eyes water with angry tears, “Take that back,” he demands.

                His mother sighs, as if she was pitying him, “Open your eyes, honey. He’s not the man you take him for. He,” her eyes flash dangerously, dark shadow clouding their icy color, “is not your parent and doesn’t know what you’re good for. Accept it.”

                “He’s twice the parent you are!” he shouts out, “And he doesn’t tell me I’m worthless like you do!”

                “I’m doing it to disciple you,” she replies unbothered and although her voice is calm, her fingers twitch on the fork, “You will never learn if you don’t know what you do wrong.”

                “And saying I suck is supposed to _motivate_ me?”

                She side-eyes him, “It’s your own fault, Hyouga. Don’t blame it on us.”

                Hysterical laughter bubbles out of his mouth and he wipes his tears away with the sleeve of his shirt, “ _Shit.”_

                His mother narrows her eyes, “Don’t swear in front of me.”

                He looks up at them and shakes his head, feeling ridiculous, “I can’t believe I actually tried to talk sense with you two,” he says in disbelief, “It’s _pointless._ ”

                All this time, all this pain – he foolishly believed they would actually listen, that they would see how much soccer meant for him. All that fear of getting things wrong and disappointing them without realizing that no matter what he’d do, he’d always be a failure in their eyes.

                He feels sick, thinking about the time he wasted on them.

                He turns around, tears falling down despite the fact that Hyouga’s not sad – he’s furious. At his parents; at art; at soccer for just a minute; at himself for getting himself tangled in that mess of unachievable expectations.

                “Hyouga!”

                He waves them off, “I’m going out,” he announces, throwing on his new jacket and wrapping himself in a scarf, “Thanks for letting me play soccer.”

                “Hyouga! Get back in here!”

                He shuts the door. 

               

* * *

 

                “Fubuki-senpai?” Hyouga dares to speak up after a while.

                The man looks up from his tea and stops petting Nana, “Yes, Yukimura?”

                Hyouga wondered all day how to word his question the best – spent hours of aimlessly wandering around the city, stopping by to say hi to the cats at cat café he goes to with Fubuki-senpai and even went as far as to get on the bus and drive to the man’s house. He knows he can’t back down now that he barged in like that.

                Still, he hesitates.

                Despite using all his courage to stand up for himself, for talking things out with his parents and getting some kind of closure and realizing that it’s wrong to be treated like Hyouga was, there’s still a tiny part of him that’s doubting in everything.

                Because what if Hyouga really loses Fubuki-senpai this way?

                “I just thought…,” he started, scratching his neck and looking away to stare at Nana rubbing herself off on Fubuki-senpai, “I mean. I wondered and I just wanted to—“

                He cuts  himself off, frustrated.

                “Ah, this is hard,” he mutters out to himself.

                Fubuki-senpai sits up straighter and cocks his head at him, “What is?”

                “Saying it.”

                The man smiles, “You’re not a shy kid, Yukimura,” he points out, “What makes this thing so different?”

                _Maybe the fact that it can ruin everything?,_ Hyouga thinks to himself, frowning.

                “It’s important to me,” he says simply.

                “Ah,” Fubuki-senpai nods slowly, “Maybe, it would be easier to write it down?”

                “No, I have to say it,” he insists.

                Fubuki-senpai sighs and crosses his legs, turning to  look at him more seriously, “Alright. I’m listening, then.”

                Hyouga picks at the loose skin around his nails and bites his lip. Because it’s not just the other thing, it’s not the matter of saying it out loud that’s making Hyouga so nervous. It’s the fact that those words could change things – could make them either better or worse. All because Hyouga’s a kid who gets attached too quickly to the wrong people.

                He prays that Fubuki-senpai is not one of those people.

                “You left me, back then,” he starts, quietly. The smile on Fubuki-senpai’s face fades a little, but he nods, “And I thought it was normal. Because… that’s what always happens. People just leave and that’s fine,” he rubs his hands together, still not looking at him, “I’m used to them not coming back.”

                There’s something akin to pain in Fubuki-senpai’s eyes at his words, “Yukimura, you know that’s now how it went.”

                “Well, that’s how I felt,” he says, bordering on distress, “It hurt me. A lot,” he tightens his hands on his knees and takes a deep breath, “But you came back.”

                Fubuki-senpai narrows his eyes, but keeps quiet. Hyouga continues, “I’m not used to that. When people leave, that’s that. They’re gone. But you didn’t. You stayed here. You could be anywhere, but you’re still here, Fubuki-senpai and I just—“

                There it was. The crack in his voice. A wound too fresh to pick on.

                “—don’t know what that means?” Fubuki-senpai suggests quietly.

                “Yeah,” he sniffs and realizes with horror that his eyes are damp, “And my parents, they’re— they love me,” he says firmly, “they do. It’s just that, they don’t love who I am.  It’s hard to explain, ah,” he huffs, “This is really hard,” he admits.

                Fubuki-senpai gives him a small smile.

                It’s a sign to ‘go on, it’s okay.’

                “And it’s just you and Miyuki-san do stuff that’s—“ he swallows, “stuff that my parents should have done. Like, like buying me things or coming to school festivals and you never yell and you say I do good even if I mess up and it’s all so weird, because they _don’t do that_.”

                “Yukimura—“

                Hyouga lifts his head, staring at his distraught, “And I don’t understand. You both act more like my parents than they ever did.”

                Fubuki-senpai’s mouth forms an ‘O’, before he exhales softly, “That’s true.”

                Hyouga shifts on his seat, “And that’s okay with you?” he asks uncertainly.

                “I’d tell you if it wouldn’t be, but it is,” he says as a matter-of-factly, “I was aware of the role I would be taking when I first met you, Yukimura.”

                Hyouga stills, “What do you mean?”

                “I mean what I said,” Fubuki-senpai shrugs, taking Nana on his lap to scratch her between her ears, “You didn’t hold me at gun-point and tell me to care for you. I did what I did because I wanted to, because you deserve someone who doesn’t deprecate you, Yukimura.”

                “But you’re not my—“

                “Parent? I know,” he smiles sadly, “But sometimes I wish I was. Your parents are so lucky to have you and yet, they decide to throw you away because of their ambitions. It always upset me, Yukimura, that I had to watch as they did that to you.”

                Hyouga’s eyes sting. His lip trembles.

                “Maybe they are the ones who raised you,” Fubuki-senpai continues in a gentle voice, “But I like to think I had some part in it as well. You grew a lot, Yukimura, and I couldn’t be more proud.”

                _Proud._

                Not disappointed, not disgusted, not angry.

                He’s proud of him. _Him_.

                Something snaps inside of him and a relieved gasp escapes Hyouga’s throat and he throws himself at Fubuki-senpai in a desperate hug.

                “Thank you,” he sobs out.

                And it feels okay.

                He can’t see Fubuki-senpai’s face from that angle, but he can feel the happiness radiating off of him.

                “Anytime, Hyouga.”

                It feels like _home._

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I researched all I could but I could still get some of the things wrong! Let's treat it like fiction, yeah?


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